Westerly High School - Westlyan Yearbook (Westerly, RI)

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Thf. Senior Year Book— 193.1 en apples were being thrown, with the understanding that the object of attack must forfeit his entire pay if he spoke a single word. It was utterly astonishing to discover Frank Cappuccio as the target, and Frank DeBartolo picking up the apples as fast as they were thrown, and selling them over again. Could it be possible that the friends had become estranged during the lapse of years? In another section of the fair grounds was an exhibition by the world-renowned scientists, Deutsch and Sawyer, their display being a Martian, whom they had recently brought down with them from our neighboring planet. As he did not exactly appeal to our aesthetic sense, we quickly left in search of a more pleasing sight. A small part of the grounds was given over to the demonstration of live stock and we were especially interested in two competitors, directly opposite each other, who seemd to be vying for honors. Their exhibits were lined up identically and each time the woman moved her animals, the man moved his, too. This was indeed a bitter contest and, wishing to view it at a closer angle, we moved nearer the scene. The shock was too much for us though, when we found the two rivals to be Muriel Harwick and Roger Harrington. It is quite the vogue at present to be proficient in languages. Indeed to be really educated, one must feel at home in at least ten tongues. Therefore, we were not astonished to find a booth labeled “Learn the French Language in One Easy Lesson—Ten Minutes.” Out of curiosity, we entered and found a class in session, but a surprise, indeed delightful, was due us, when the French instructor proved to be our own little French wizard, Cecile Cayer. Directly opposite this booth of learning was one identical in form, but given oyer to the instruction of Italian. With high hopes for more pleasant surprises, we went in and were amply rewarded, for Frank Celestino was imparting much of his knowledge of the Italian language to eager listeners. Kathleen and I then entered a neighboring television booth, which was operated by Asa Brown. Through this de- vice we located Tommy Horse and radioed for him to be sent to us on a beam of helium, a process which had recently been contrived by Prof. Domenic Chimento. In less time than we could bat an eyelash, Tommy Horse was again with us. Upon our exit from the fair grounds we chanced to see in the distance a huge stationary comet and sitting upon it, Rosa Brusa, the world’s champion comet sitter. This time we pressed the C button and proceeded downward; then, after having dropped a few thousand feet, Tommy Horse continued in a course parallel to the earth. The air began to get much warmer and gentle breezes stirred the humid atmosphere. A broad expanse of water sparkled beneath us, and large shady trees bordered a beautiful land. We did not need any sign to inform us that this was Cuba, island of warmth and peace. We stopped in the midst of what seemed to be a terrific argument between two Cuban women and one man, who were wrangling about the price of the man’s wares. He appeared to be selling hardware at a price so exorbitant that the women objected. On their turning around to confer together, we were delighted to discover two more of our former classmates, Eleanor Fusaro and Ethel Smith. Both were attired in native costume, and fitted charmingly into the tropical atmosphere. In an artistically arranged outdoor theatre we encountered Marguerite Cham-plin and Mary Desimone gracefully presenting a native dance of the nymphs. A short distance in tho background were Vincent Turco and Patsy Sposato strumming their Hawaiian guitars, to which melodious appeal the dancers responded readily. Suddenly we were crudely pushed out of the way by a strong arm. and a rough masculine voice not very gently told us to clear the road. As we looked up to determine whom the orders came from, we saw nothing, but glancing down we recognized our own classmate, George Falcone. loaded with about 250 small books. Directly behind him were Frederick Johns and Wally Lamb, also conveying reading matter. They marched on ahead, Falcone in front, Lamb in the center, and Johns 16 )►•-

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The Senior Year Book— 1933 reunion. Among them were Arnie Austin, who rendered a beautiful baritone solo, Angelina Trovato and Rose Pellegrino later joining Arnie’s performance with their melodious soprano voices. Another group of performers soon appeared, featuring Ken Gerrish and Elizabeth Whalen, partners in an extremely graceful Apache dance. During these presentations, snappy ethereal music was being played on the vio-piano by Helen Alto. At one side of the room we noticed a booth with the inscription, “Alicia, Wonder Mystic of the Heavens.” Overcome by our feminine curiosity, we entered to learn what the stars held for us, and learned to our amazement that the prophetess was our friend, Alice Briggs. When it came time for us to express our greatest wish, we agreed that nothing would please us so much as to visit all our former classmates. Alice told us that this would be entirely possible if we were to press the buttons on Tommy’s neck in succession and then let him follow his own course, influenced by her magic control. Overjoyed, we paid our bill in garnets (the new medium of exchange recently invented by the eminent scientist. Professor Samuel Barber, P. H. D. X. Y. Z.), wound up Tommy Horse, pressed the B lever, and were once again on our way. This time we entered upon a straight course, uninterrupted until we came to a village and were stopped on the outskirts by a road gang, who were busily employed in erecting a new thoroughfare. The most diligent of them, strange as it may seem, we discovered to be Ernie Fulford. He approached us with a cheerful smile and asked us to leave Tommy Horse at a road station and take the aero-car service into town, at the same time calling his assistant, Finny Steadman, to direct us. The A-l pilot (or should I say, pilotess) turned out to be none other than Beverly Barber. Bev always did have a flair for operating queer contraptions. A short distance from the hangarage where the aero-cars were kept was a small lunch cart, inside of which Myrtle Barber and Christine Tucker were dishing out hot ice cream rolls by the dozen to Helen Kimber and Emma Browning. After we had satisfied our appetites with this new and delectable confection, we started toward the village in the aero-car under the careful control of Pilot Barber. As we proceeded, we saw in the distance a message in smoke which told us to descend 5,000 feet and show our credentials to the inspector. We dropped down to a level with a huge tank, which, when the cover was lifted, we saw was operated by Audrey Buchanan. After she had inspected our credentials and collected our garnet chips, we were once more on our way. Finally we reached the village and discovered that an immense country fair was at the height of its noisy celebration. Even in this hyper-sophisticated day and age, the simple enjoyments of life still offer certain satisfactions, so we turned our footsteps toward the fair, after having taken leave of our pilot. Our attention was first attracted by a raucous-voiced barker, directing the crowds to the various entertainments. Could this be the quiet Frank Fletcher we had known in our younger years? It was hard to believe, but certain facial characteristics betrayed his identity. The main event of the day was a race to the moon and back on equines similar to ours, the contestants being women who rode bareback. Since this promised to be an exciting contest, we took our places near the starting point. We were close enough now, clearly to discern the jockeys who, marvelous to relate, were none other than Theresa Carollo, Alice Burdick, and Angelina Bianchi. The timekeeper, a lively wide-awake gentleman, gave the signal, and they were off! As our attention was now attracted by the timekeeper, who seemed to be busily engaged in watching the time-o-meter, something strangely familiar about his appearance puzzled us for a short while. Yes, sure enough, it was George Smith, judging so diligently. According to the time-o-meter. five minutes and two watts had passed when the whirring of a horse’s tail informed us that the racers were returning. The winner, who won by a gold lock, was Theresa Carollo. Now children need never cry in vain for the moon when it can be reached so speedily. A short distance from this spectacle was a human apple target, at whom gold- 15 j-

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The Senior Year Book— 1933 bringing up the rear. Since they appeared to be headed for some important destination, we followed them, and under their leadership, reached a massive book stand, behind which was Jean Hirst selling the volumes as fast as they came in. A huge sign imparted the knowledge that it was a new form of poetry called meterless harmony, which had been devised by Rebecca Dinwoodie, another of our classmates. We could easily understand this because of Becky’s ability to write such beautiful lyrics in our High School days. Although we had been here only a few hours, we were eager to journey on. Consequently Tommy was hailed, D lever pressed, and this time we really did go down. As we approached a section very close to sea level, it seemed as though we were going right into the water. Upon our approach, however, a rock arose from the deep and opened to receive us. We continued falling for miles until we reached Japan, a close neighbor to the China of our ancient fairy tales. First we approached a cherry orchard in full bloom. In one corner of this floral panorama, an artist was busily engaged in sketching a beautiful model. Imagine our excitement upon finding the painter to be Ruth Leon doing an entrancing portrait of Betty Cheever, who had still retained the charm of her youth and was indeed a worthy subject for an artist’s brush. Farther down the path we came upon a lovely rippling lake, across which was the Gratis Ferry, operated by a solitary boatsman, George MacLean, who had retired from a worrisome financial career to enjoy a less responsible and more pleasant existence. When we reached the opposite side, we were approached by two Japanesy ladies selling umbrellas. In spite of their different surroundings and makeup, we recognized the girls to be our old friends, Jean Thomson and Edith Cruickshank. The only thing really foreign about the country was the costume, for all the signboards and much of the conversation about us were purely Americanized. We had been too busily engaged to think of eating, but now our material natures demanded food. Thus we stopped at the nearest restaurant called the “Erl King.” The interior was a marvelous array of gold and ivory, with pure marble floors, the chairs all arranged in the form of a huge arena surrounding a raised platform. This was indeed a modern dining hall, for the newest mode of ordering had been installed; that is, when we sat down at the table we raised the receiver of the talki-phone, gave the order, and relaxed while waiting. In an incredibly short time our waiter appeared, balancing two large trays on his outstretched hands. At first we did not recognize him, but we soon awoke to the fact that our nectar and ambrosia were being served by none other than Charles Crandall. His dignified mien quite befitted the luxurious surroundings. We had almost finished our meal when our attention was attracted to a gentleman (presumably the proprietor of the place) addressing the customers. During his speech we realized that we were being harangued by that renowned member of our class, Earl Larkin. He informed us that as a special feature he had brought down a show straight from Wideway, Kalamazoo, which w’as now the center of all dramatic entertainment. With a graceful flourish of his right hand, Mr. Larkin introduced: “Eddy Edmund’s Dashities of 1958.” A large chorus, led by Peggy Smith, did an enchanting ballet number. The dancers included several more of our former acquaintances, namely, Pauline LaMarche, Lola Matarese, Ruth Taillon, Sally Larkin, and Ruth Durfee. They all pirouetted in perfect grace and rhythm, and with absolute confidence in their ability, which far excelled the famed Albertina Rasch dancers of our high school days. The next on the program was the presentation of the Harmony Three from Gay Paree,” three stunning blondes, whose voices surely did blend in perfect harmony. Once again we were miraculously confronted by more of our classmates, for this fine trio was composed of Bessie Taylor, Beatrice Lowry, and Eleanor Hoxsie. As a final number, Eddy Edmund came out and did a spirited song and dance in person. We left in search of a place to sleep, but finding no quarters near at hand, de- -417